


Better Left Unknown

by sinceregalaxy



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Sam and Ruth try to drive to Vegas, idc though theres not enough fic in this fandom, probably too fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 06:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15504804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinceregalaxy/pseuds/sinceregalaxy
Summary: No matter what happens, things always seem come back to this. In his car eating greasy gas station food. In his car to look at venues or meet with sponsors. In his car when he doesn’t want you there. In his car when he asked you to be. In his car with a bag of pink donuts on your lap because he wants to comfort you but just doesn’t know how.





	Better Left Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samchandler1986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/gifts).



> I asked samchandler1986 (the author of Desert Mirage and about half the fics for this fandom, bless their heart) for a prompt: "Sam and Ruth take a trip together and the car breaks down..." I also stole their idea of Sam hating to fly, because it just seems too perfect too me.

 

You’re lying on the hood of a Lincoln Continental in the middle of the Mojave Desert at two in the morning. It’s too dark to really see and so quiet you could hear a pin drop. There’s the smell of dust and oil and cigarette smoke.

 

He’s there beside you, one hand tucked behind his head, the other motioning to the sky and holding his dangling cigarette. “They are pretty fuckin' beautiful way out here,” he mumbles before taking a drag and offering it to you. 

 

You take it and inhale the smoke, wondering why the future looks so much like a blank white page in the dark and why he’s so much _softer_ when it’s just the two of you. 

 

***

 

_“Jesus Christ,” he’d said, climbing onto the hood. “Don’t tell me this is too sentimental for you.”_

_“No, just a bit out of character.”_

_“Hmm. Well there won’t be another fucking car on this road until morning. I guess we have a little time for this pretentious star-gazing shit.”_

_You didn’t even hesitate to join him._

 

***

 

No matter what happens, things always seem come back to this. In his car eating greasy gas station food. In his car to look at venues or meet with sponsors. In his car when he doesn’t want you there. In his car when he asked you to be. In his car with a bag of pink donuts on your lap because he wants to comfort you but just doesn’t _know how_. 

 

Now you’re on top of his car smoking a cigarette and he’s rambling on about the show and Justine and you just keep thinking about how none of it makes sense. 

 

You were supposed to have given up acting by now. Meant to have some secretarial job and a husband and a house and a kid with one on the way. He was supposed to be drunk or high in some back alley bar, out of Hollywood ideas and almost out of money. 

 

Instead you’re both stuck on a back road, headed to Vegas to put on a _ridiculous_ show that _never_ should have worked. 

 

Just like the two of you. 

 

Oh, but you've always been one to defy the odds.

 

***

 

_“You really didn’t have to come pick me up, I could have gotten a flight out tomorrow afternoon when the storm passes.”_

_“Yeah, well, I had to uh, pick up some shit from my house,” he mumbles, taking your bags from you and setting them in the trunk. “And if I didn’t take you, you’d be late. And then how would the rest of them be ready by Friday?”_

_“I still can’t believe you drove all the way to Sacramento,” you’d said climbing into the passenger seat. “And I think you give me too_

_much credit.”_

_“Why’s it so hard for everyone to believe that I like seeing my daughter?” He shut the door and turned on the engine. “And no, I really don’t. The show would be a fuckin’ disaster without you.”_

_You had to fight off an involuntary blush. “Why didn’t you just fly?”_

_He sighed while pulling away from the curb. “I fuckin’ hate flying.”_

_“Wait. Don't tell me you're afr-“_

_“Not another word about it. Got it?”_

 

***

 

“How was Russel?” he asks, avoiding your eyes as he passes you the half-empty bag of chips.

 

“Fine,” you say, stuffing a chip in your mouth. 

 

He’s quiet, and you assume that’s going to be the end of that line of conversation. 

 

“Are you happy?” he blurts, and you almost start choking on your chip. “You know, with him? I mean... ah, fuck. Never mind.” 

 

He turns away and you can see him shutting down. “Hey. Hey, it’s ok.”

 

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “I just...” he pauses searches for the words. “You don’t need to worry about me trying to... you know?” he says quietly, motioning between them. “I’m... I’m just glad to have you as a friend.”

 

And there it is. He’s soft again. His voice quieter and his eyes less piercing. He's so soft that you might just hurt yourself. “Me too.”

 

You try to ignore the fact that you never answered his question. 

 

***

 

_A loud pop and an almost louder curse from the driver’s seat snapped you out of your slumber. Before you could even comprehend what had happened the car was pulled over on the side of the road and he had stepped out into the dark, letting out an endless stream of swears._

_Fully awake, you clambered out of the car to find him kicking the flat tire in frustration._

_“Do you have a spare?”_

_“Nope,” he sighed pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket._

_“Well... why not?”_

_“Because my ex-wife took it. Some fucked-up, juvenile revenge fantasy,” he retorted kicking the flat once more for good measure. “And even if I did it’s too fuckin’ dark out to change it.”_

_“You don’t have a flashlight with you?”_

_“Not all of us are paranoid goody two-shoes. No, I don’t have a flashlight with me.”_

_He lit his cigarette and leaned against the car. You stood there in silence for a few long moments, taking in the barren landscape and deafening silence._

_You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. “This never would have happened if you would just get on a plane.”_

_He started coughing, and you swore it almost sounded like laughter. “I told you to shut the fuck up about it.”_

 

***

 

You think back to a few hours ago, when you were sitting across from Russel eating the dinner he made for you. It was _relaxed_. It was _comfortable_. You tell yourself that it’s all you could ever want. That it’s much better than shivering in the middle of the desert with nothing but an empty bag of chips and a pack of cigarettes. 

 

But then you hear him rummaging through his car and suddenly he’s laying a thick fleece jacket over you. Your stomach erupts with nervous energy and you can’t help but watch him as he goes around the car get back on the hood. 

 

“Stop fuckin’ staring at me. It’s just a jacket.”

 

You accept this answer for now, even though you know that it’s not true. That it’s more than just a jacket. That underneath the shivering you’re feeling warm and tingly even though you know you shouldn’t be. 

 

_Fuckin’ actresses_ , a voice in your head says. And you have to agree with it because you love the _drama_ and the _sensation_ just a little too much for your own good. Because even though you have everything you told yourself you ever wanted, you can’t help but want this. This mayhem of emotions. This train wreck of epic proportions. This feeling of being less than comfortable but so completely _full_ at the same time. 

 

You pull his jacket a little tighter around you. 

 

***

 

_About half an hour out of Los Angeles you reached to turn on the radio._

_He grabbed your arm before you could hit the switch and you gave a him a questioning look._

_“Don’t,” he had said curtly._

_“Why not?”_

_“It interferes with my thought process,” he explained, releasing your arm. “Can’t have fuckin’ Madonna wailing in my ears when I’m trying to decide where we’re going to add the firework shit the sponsors are asking for.”_

_“Ok, well, I have to figure out how a match-up between a wolf and an American princess is going to make sense and, no offense, but your brooding silence over there is not exactly intellectually stimulating.”_

_He gave you an exasperated look. “Jesus Christ. Fine.” He switched on the radio._

_Five minutes later he was humming along._

 

***

 

_Are you happy?_ The question continues to nag in your head. 

 

Beside you, his breath is starting to even out. You glance over and see that his eyes are closed. A still-burning cigarette still barely pinched between his lips. You smile affectionately and gently grab it. He stirs a little, but continues to sleep. 

 

You take a long drag, trying not to cough. You’ve never been much of a smoker. 

 

_Are you happy?_

 

You stub the cigarette out on the hood and toss it onto the asphalt, and you admit it to yourself. 

 

_Yes._  

 

Despite the chilly desert air and the cramp developing in your back. Despite the rough fabric of the jacket that smells a little too strongly of smoke for your tastes. Despite the car that’s missing a spare tire and a flashlight. Despite the only remaining food being crumbs in the bottom of a Dorito bag. Despite the man lying beside you who hates flying and hates music but for some reason almost likes you. 

 

Despite hating yourself a little for wanting to give up _relaxed_ and _comfortable_ for this. 

 

Despite it all, you are happy. 

 

You laugh to yourself at the absurdity of it and entangle your fingers with his. He shifts a little closer to you. 

 

Maybe things will look different in the morning. He’ll be arrogant and pushy and won’t talk about how beautiful the stars are. You’ll argue over sets and dialogue and camera angles. Probably none of what you’re feeling right now will make sense in the harsh light of day. 

 

But right now the stars are reflecting off his glasses and his chest rises and falls at an even cadence. The air is still and future is a blank white page. 

 

You curl up just a bit closer and close your eyes. Allow yourself, for the first time, to be happy on the edge of something unknown. 


End file.
